


Narrowed Expectations

by starvingsnout



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Body Worship, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Lingerie, M/M, Mostly Pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starvingsnout/pseuds/starvingsnout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn wears a corset and gets fondled by Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Narrowed Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> I initially wrote this before Best Song Ever MV came out but it went through some massive rewriting once I'd seen it. It still takes place in a universe or time where BSE hasn't happened.
> 
> Also, ignore the title. It means nothing - I just suck at naming things.

Harry says he loves to entertain but Zayn thinks he loves to be entertained just as much, if not more. He’s also more or less addicted to people; the more he comes into contact with the better. It took a while for Zayn to understand that. In the beginning, in the X Factor house, he found it borderline rude, the way Harry flitted from person to person, sometimes dropping them mid-conversation to move on to the next. Harry’s changed quite a bit since then and maybe Zayn's come to understand him better, as well. In any event, the point is that he now knows Harry well enough not to be offended whenever their quiet nights in turn into a round of 20 Questions.

They’re watching a Japanese documentary on goldfish breeding (nasty business, all in all) but once all the scenes with breeders rubbing fish bottoms together have passed Harry’s interest in the program rapidly wanes. For the past ten minutes or so he’s been restlessly shuffling against Zayn’s chest and Zayn estimates that in about ten minutes he’ll say something stupid and outrageous just to make Zayn talk to him.

"Zayn."

"Yeah?"

"What would you say... is your weirdest kink?"

Zayn snorts. It would be about sex, Harry's number one favourite topic. "Why're you asking?"

"I just think it's important to know what your partner is into to."

"You need to know right now?"

"Why not right now?"

"I don't know. I thought we were about to go to bed. My eyes feel droopy already."

"Your eyes are always droopy."

"Yes, insult me, why don't you, that'll make me fess up all my dirty fantasies. I honestly can't think of any at the moment, though. So, go first, if you want to talk about it so badly?" Zayn suggests, combing lazily through Harry's hair as he speaks.

"You wouldn’t like it, what I'm into," Harry says quietly, after a slight pause, fiddling with Zayn's t shirt.

Zayn inspects Harry's unruly hair-do with awakening curiosity - what's with this sudden seriousness? - and pokes at where he thinks his nose is, the corner of his lip twitching lazily when Harry makes a funny noise in response. "Tell me."

Harry catches Zayn's finger and fiddles with it absently fiddling as he chews on his lips. "You’ll just think it's creepy."

Zayn squints and tries to recall the creepiest things he's seen in porn, but with Harry being Harry he seriously doubts it’s going to be any of _those_ things. He hopes anyway. "Now you’ve _got_ to tell me. Does it involve food?" he hazards. Bananas are Harry’s favourite thing in the world, after all.

Harry continues to silently tug at the hem of Zayn’s tee. On the screen the documentary has ended and segued into news.

“Whipping?” 

Nothing. Clearly Harry is going to make Zayn guess it so he won’t have to say it himself. Zayn decides he’s willing to humour his boyfriend for about two more guesses. 

“Costumes?”

Harry’s fingers stop moving.

"Ooh, so costumes, huh?” Zayn hikes himself up against the arm of the sofa, starting to get excited. “What sort of costumes? Spandex unitards? Leather trousers? A cape made of banana peels?" Actually Zayn hopes it’s superheroes. Iron man getting it on with the Green Lantern. Or maybe they could finally put those Power Rangers suits to good use. 

Harry gathers up his limbs, thus far sprawled all over Zayn and the sofa like those of a lethargic starfish, and slightly elbows him in the stomach as he pushes himself up on his haunches on the sagging cushions of the sofa. Zayn would never say it to Harry, but the sofa has become the main reason for his willingness to stay in at Harry’s place instead of his own. Incidentally, Zayn’s refusal to drag his arse all the way here from his pleasant little hiding place in Hertfordshire was what their very first argument as a couple was about. It wasn’t just him being lazy, though; he was just so set in his ways that an evening spent amidst an unfamiliar set of furniture was enough to ruin it. It was an argument that Zayn’s happy about having ended up losing, however, since nowadays he vastly prefers Harry’s floppy, bloated flower-patterned mess to his own black and white vintage Art Deco settee. 

"I'm not telling you. You won't do it anyway,” Harry says, settled in his new position.

Zayn gives him a disgusted look. He is not doing the guessing game again. Also, exactly how vanilla does Harry think he is? "I'll definitely do it, 'kay? Whatever it is, I'll do it. So, let’s hear it." Him giving in so blindly is probably exactly what Harry was after, but again, it is Harry. Since the bananas have already been ruled out Zayn thinks himself pretty safe.

Harry considers it for a moment and nods. "Fine. But if you laugh, I'll-" He pauses uncertainly. Harry’s absolutely rubbish at threats. Rubbish at being menacing in general. Zayn thinks that the day someone describes Harry Styles as menacing will be the day the Kaijus emerge from the ocean floors. “I’ll think of something later. Just shut it, you wanna hear it or not?”

Zayn evades the hand trying to block the laughter pouring out of his mouth. “Alright, alright. What is it?”

“It’s um-“ Harry leans back to rest his back on the other end of the settee and somehow manages to squeeze his toes under Zayn’s bottom. It’s quite uncomfortable but Zayn is too eager to hear what Harry has to say to mind it at the moment. “Like, ladies’ clothes. Women’s clothes, I mean.”

A heavy little thud resounds in Zayn’s chest. _Women’s clothes_. Does Harry know? How could he know? Although it’s not altogether impossible that he would. Zayn has never particularly attempted to hide it but nor has he been open about it. The lads know he likes cosmetics and taking care of his skin and hair in general but he’s never said – has he? _has_ he? – that he likes women’s clothes as well. Finds them fun to look at and touch. Sometimes spends his idle hours flipping through Harvey Nichols catalogues or catching up on Trinny  & Susannah. Used to put on his sisters’ dresses and, much later on, regularly rummaged through Perrie’s make-up bags. 

“Well, at least you’re not laughing,” says Harry slowly. His toes are still prodding uncomfortably at Zayn’s bum. “I guess you’re not really thrilled, either. Honestly, I think it’s pretty weird, too. It’s just that I saw something on-line and it stayed with me and when we started going out it kind of came back. I wouldn’t even say that it’s a general fetish for me, I’d just really like to see you wearing stuff like that. If you want to do it, that is.”

“Sure. I’ll do it.” Zayn lets out a little laugh at the utmost surprise on Harry’s face. “I said I would, didn’t I? It’s not even that odd, really.” His heart is still thudding but now that he knows that this is something Harry came up with on his own he’s quite happy with how this is going. Who would have thought they share a kink of this sort? Of course he won’t tell Harry it’s mutual yet – watching Harry’s apologetic squirming is much too fun – but he will eventually. Maybe afterwards, when they’re lying in bed wrung out and sweaty. Harry will be so mad and maybe even yell at Zayn a little, which is always entertaining.

Harry's practically beaming with happiness. “Really? Wow. When d'you want to do it? I mean, I'm thinking next Saturday if you haven’t got anything planned. We’re gonna have to go shopping first, though. Probably make a reservation with a boutique so we won’t end up in the tabloids.”

“I’m fine with you taking care of that, to be honest. Get whatever you like, as long as it’s big enough.” Ever since becoming famous Zayn has started loathing shopping and there’s no way he’s going anywhere near downtown London in broad daylight with Harry of all people, boyfriend or not. Going out with Harry is a bit like walking through Piazza San Marco with an open basket of sandwiches. 

“Alright.” 

"Alright indeed."

Harry looks like he can’t believe his luck as he withdraws his toes from under Zayn’s bum and curls around his phone, never far from reach, like a cat, the screen illuminating his wide eyes into sparkling pools as he, presumably, starts googling upscale London womenswear boutiques. Realizing how dark it’s got in the flat and seeing Harry’s preoccupied, Zayn gets off the sofa to switch on Harry’s massive ceiling lights and then turn shuffles into the kitchen to fix himself a light evening snack.

***

The following week turns out to be a busy one. Between recording sessions and tour rehearsals they also do a 10-page spread for Seventeen and film a behind the scenes feature for an Australian breakfast show. Harry appears unusually high-spirited throughout it and on Thursday asks Zayn to get his legs shaved by Saturday. Even this simple task feels like a burden amidst everything and he has no idea how Harry has time or energy for shopping trips. And yet, clearly he does because on Saturday evening he excuses himself after supper and comes back into the kitchen clutching a glossy white paper bag with flowery lettering in silver on it. It reads “Luella’s Boudoir” and Zayn’s not sure but he has a vague idea it’s a bridal shop. Does Harry seriously want to stuff him into a wedding dress?

“There you go.” Harry places the bag on the polished grey stone of the kitchen island counter and slides it over to Zayn, obviously nervous as he smoothens down the hem of his shirt. Zayn dispatches the dirty pile of plates he was about to load in the washing machine and wastes no time upending the contents of the bag on the counter top. A lump of dirty white fabric pours out and it’s definitely looks the sort you’d expect from a bridal shop but either the dress is very skimpy or it’s not a dress at all. There’s lace and straps and…hooks. Gingerly, Zayn lifts up what looks like a bodice and holds the garment up with both hands, spreading it out in the air. Yup. A corset. It’s a bloody corset. He swallows to clear his voice, mouth suddenly drier than Liam’s adolescent pub nights. "A corset?" 

Harry’s fingers are clasped tightly around the edge of the kitchen counter. "Sort of, yeah. I guess it’s technically more of a corset _top_ , you know, because there’s no actual boning in it. I figured a real corset would be too much work to get into. It’s quite stiff, though, so once you do the lacing on the back it should be pretty snug. There’s actually this special fabric called coutil specifically for corsets and in this one it’s mixed with satin so it looks like it’s, like, shimmering a bit.” He pauses. “The, uh, other stuff is meant to go with it. It’s a set." 

Zayn eyes the pile of fabric still on the counter like it’s hiding a cobra in its midst. The leg shaving is starting to make more sense now.

“It’s too much, isn’t it,” Harry says glumly, as the silence stretches on and Zayn seems frozen where he’s stood.

“I just thought- I was expecting something else, to be honest. Like, a dress? I feel like I was lured in with promises of _Roman Holiday_ and am instead being served _The Blue Angel_.”

Harry's eyes dart around the kitchen. A feathery flush is crawling up his neck and onto his cheeks. "I don’t see a big difference." 

Zayn gives him a skeptical look. He has an inkling that Harry rather deliberately left out the bit about frilly underwear when he pitched the initial idea to Zayn. "I’m not sure corsets are such a good look on a guy,” he says slowly. “You probably won’t like it."

"If you don't want to wear them, fine, but don't tell me what I like and don't like." Now Harry sounds positively hostile, which means he's probably about to burst into tears or something and- Oh fuck it. Clearly Zayn just has to go through with this. He did promise. It’s not Harry’s fault Zayn miscalculated his kinks.

"Look, I’ll wear it, ‘kay? I'll just-“ He gathers up the clothes and stuffs them back into the bag. “I’ll go and get changed. In the bathroom. Unless you want to watch?”

Harry shakes his head meekly. “No. Just- you probably won’t be able to do the lacing yourself.”

"Right. Well, you can do it when I come out, I guess. Be right back." With that, Zayn strides out of the kitchen and into the bigger one of the two bathrooms of the condo, right next to the master bedroom. After shutting and locking the door, he lays out all the items in the bag on the wide counter top next to the sink to see what exactly he's faced with. In addition to the corset there’s a pair of knickers (briefs, really, with a bit of material extending to the upper thighs), stockings, and what looks like a flimsy belt made of lace. He picks up the last mentioned item and seeing the ribbons with little metal clips hanging off of it realizes he’s holding suspenders. For the stockings. He stares at them for quite a few seconds, picturing Harry in a lingerie shop, flicking through a rack of such things with his Thirsty Face on. 

Then he gets out of his track bottoms and folds it neatly on the counter. Since getting into the corset seems like it might bit of a hassle, he starts out with the knickers. They’re made of see-through, intricately patterned lace (Chantilly lace, Zayn is quite confident) and low cut at the waist. They look tiny in his hands and when he slides them on they sit so tight at his crotch he’s not sure he'll even be capable of an erection. If Zayn had a bum any bigger than he does, his blood circulation would probably be cut off by now. Other than that they are a very pretty pair of knickers and Zayn spends a few moments admiring them in the full-sized mirror next to the sink.

Zayn actually hasn’t worn women’s underwear before. There’s no way he would have ever touched his sisters’ bras or knickers (as far he’s concerned, his sisters are sexless androids underneath their clothes and have no need for such things) and Perrie’s were simply too small for him. But that isn’t to say he’s not interested, per se. Had the opportunity presented itself, he probably would have gone for it. In the presence of no one else and only to see what it would feel and look like. He’s definitely never wanted to have sex clad like that.

Next he slips on the stockings. They too are rather tight and he thinks they just might stay up even without the suspenders, but since this is Harry’s fantasy he dutifully wiggles into them as well. The straps at the sides turn out to be adjustable but not particularly easy to use; it takes him many taxing tries to get them to the right length and then some more to decipher how exactly to attach them to the stockings. There are three of them for both legs, which ensures a snug fit on all sides. The end result is very nice and Zayn finds it almost a shame that he wasn’t born into the opposite sex. 

The corset is the trickiest part of the set and Zayn realizes quickly there’s no way of getting it loose enough to slip on in any comfortable fashion. So, he resorts to the method known to everyone who's ever wanted to fit into jeans two sizes too small for them. He lies down on the floor, raises his hips off of it, and shimmy wiggles it on, inch by inch. At the waist they momentarily get stuck in one of the suspender straps and he almost gives up right then and there. A few calming breaths later he tries again and now the corset makes it successfully past the hip bones. By the time he finally manages to hitch it up around his torso he feels utterly fucked out already.

It is at this point that Harry makes it his business to quietly rap on the bathroom door and ask, “Zayn, you alright? You’ve been there for almost half an hour.”

“Time tends to fly when you’re having fun. Or when you’re trying to get into corsets,” Zayn replies dryly from the floor. “You know, pretty much everything you got is a little bit too small.”

“Oh. Are you on the floor? I could have helped with the corset, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming out now. Just give me a moment.” Zayn rolls out on his stomach and pushes himself up on his hands and knees. From there he can reach the counter top and uses it as leverage to heave himself up. He takes a final glance in the mirror, pleased at what he sees, and grabs the door knob. “It’s probably not what you pictured in your head, so. Prepare yourself." He opens the door slowly, pushes it open just enough to allow for him to step out. He doesn't go any further - Harry's stood right there, blocking the way - leans back against the door frame, arms crossed on his chest. "Well?" 

Harry looks, there's no other word for it, entranced. Hands clasped together, mouth hanging slightly open, pupils dilated to the point of blocking out the green in his eyes. 

"Right. I guess I have my answer. Now the lacing." He turns his back to Harry and places his palms against the cream-coloured wallpaper. When he feels Harry hovering closer he braces himself but still ends up gasping in shock as Harry pulls the corset tight by the laces and his back arches into a C. "Fuck. Fucking fuck. I think my lungs just collapsed." 

"Shit, I guess I pulled it with too much force-" Harry starts worriedly but Zayn shushes him with a wave of his hand.

"No, wait. It's starting to feel better. Fucking hell, I never realized my posture was so bad. I feel like my whole world has changed axis. Quick, tie up at the laces." He waits for Harry to be done with and then turns back to face him. "This actually feels kind of amazing."

"It looks amazing too," Harry says with an appreciative smile, eyeing him up and down.

"Good. Let's get to it, then." Zayn pushes briskly past Harry, evading the greedy little grabs Harry makes at his waistline. "C’mon. I'm not getting fondled in the hallway."

They head into Harry's master bedroom, Harry trailing after Zayn, eyes so trained at his bum he almost knocks out the plastic palm tree he’d rescued in the dumpsters behind his building. Once they’re in and the door is firmly shut (Zayn isn’t being paranoid – there’s a considerable chance one of their band mates shows up unannounced) Zayn wastes no time flopping down on his back and spreading himself out on Harry’s cushion-filled bed with a content little sigh. He likes Harry's bedroom but only because he knows it's Harry's. There's all sorts of stupid hipster stuff in it. Fairy lights, dried out strands of lavender hanging above the window, a collection of ugly dream catchers, a gigantic cork board with everything from logos to concert tickets on it...

Harry's still stood at the end of the bed, brows bundled up like two furry caterpillars huddling together for warmth. Basically, he's doing that thing where he looks like a bashful toddler, waiting for a permission to climb into his parents’ bed. Not exactly an image to put you in the mood for getting intimate with your boyfriend, but it is rather disarming, and Zayn melts accordingly. He reaches his bare arms towards Harry. "C’mere."

Instantaneously lighting up Harry rolls off his socks and yanks up his t shirt, flinging them into various directions. It makes Zayn cringe little, but he knows he can easily prompt Harry into picking them up later, so he lets it go and keeps his eyes on the tanned body crawling clumsily over the bed covers on all fours and then slumps heavily next to Zayn.

"Ever so graceful," Zayn snorts and tugs him closer so he can give him a kiss. Harry smiles into it dopily and props himself up over Zayn’s chest, careful not to put too much weight on him, for once. "So. What now?"

Harry shrugs, fiddling with the lace application framing the cleavage of the corset. "I dunno. I feel self-conscious with you looking at me like that."

" _You_ feel self-conscious? The person not in a corset."

Harry shrugs and presses a gentle finger on Zayn’s lower lip. "I feel like you're expecting me to do something really creepy."

"Yeah, I am, pretty much. But since I've pretty much already imagined the worst possible directions this could possibly go in, you might as well get on with it. Although, I have a feeling that whatever it is you want to do to me your lips on my dick just might help nudge the mood in the right direction. So how ‘bout it?” 

Harry smiles, dreamy and a little bit naughty, and takes a hold of Zayn’s wrists, placing them above his head. “We’ll get to the dick parts. But for now, just lie back and think of England.” Ignoring Zayn’s pained groan at his joke, he rises on his hands and knees to crab-walk down Zayn’s body, smiling in satisfaction as the arms stay dutifully where Harry left them. 

***

Harry decides he's starting with the nipples. The corset fabric is so thick he has to literally bite down on a nipple before Zayn reacts in any way, however, and he concludes that perhaps corsets aren't really meant for nipple play. He moves further down the stiff contours of the corset, pressing kiss upon kiss on it, delighted in the way Zayn's muscles twitch underneath. He can't explain it even to himself, why it all looks so appealing. Maybe it's the way the skin seems captive to the fabric, the expanse of it wrapping the body in a gentle, snug embrace, intruding every little nook and wrapping up every tender part of flesh. The way the skin seems simultaneously covered and bare, both open to and hidden from view. He’s pretty sure Zayn has never let him do anything like this, just laid back and opened himself up for Harry’s inspection. Zayn likes control, even when Harry’s technically on top. Or maybe he just likes making Harry work for making him relinquish it, Harry’s not quite figured it out yet.

He presses wet kisses into the ribcage heaving in shallow ins and outs of breath, knowing that Zayn can't really feel them but not caring because this is about Harry, really. Under the fabric Zayn feels somehow more vulnerable than if he was bare and Harry grabs his waist with both hands just to see how big his hands look on it. Then the soft flesh under the bellybutton attracts his attention and he moves on to squishing it gently, just watching the rise and fall in the rhythm of Zayn’s breathing, lost in how lovely his skin looks under the tight fabric. He looks up to find Zayn staring at him, head propped up on a pillow and dark eyes wet and unreadable. “Too creepy yet?” Harry asks him quietly, even though he doesn’t really care either way anymore.

Zayn hums, a little wheezy, and flicks at Harry’s nose. “Nah, I’m good. I can’t say I really get it, what you like about this so much, but you do you, Harry. It actually kind of fits you, obsessing with lace and girdles. Goes well with the old ladies, y’know?”

Harry rolls his eyes and instead goes back to concentrating on the small sliver of skin bare above the hem of the lace briefs, under the fluttery material of the suspender belt. He licks a stripe along the length of it and laughs when Zayn makes a noise as if to stifle a giggle. Harry knows Zayn's body almost as well as his own - possibly better - and this just happens to be one of the rare spots where Zayn is actually ticklish.

"Get on with it," Zayn grunts above him. 

“Alright, alright,” Harry laughs and scoots down on the bed all the way to the other end where he takes a hold of Zayn’s feet. Zayn’s legs are the absolute worst and Harry adores them. Long and slender, the skin snug and firm against the elegant shape of his bones and the sleek lines of muscle. They look unbelievably good in lace, seemingly even more slender than usually. He runs his hands upwards along them, tugs at the suspender straps, and then back down. Even Zayn's knees are pretty, skin wrapping smoothly around the knobby bones, with no crease or blemish in sight. 

"Um, Harry I think I can do without the running commentary. Honestly, do you have a leg fetish or something?”

Harry blinks. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was talking out loud. And... I don’t think so? Although, now that I think about it, Caroline does have amazing legs. Taylor too. So, maybe there's something to it.”

“Oh, great. Such a catch I’ve landed myself with.”

“Hey, you asked me out first. Also, shut up, you’re ruining the mood. I was just getting to the dick bits you were banging on about earlier.” 

Zayn mimes zipping his lips up in acquiescence and Harry gives him an approving pat on the thigh as he closes in on the knickers. He can see Zayn’s cock right through the lace. It's all swollen under the thin fabric, a warm damp bulge straining against the fabric, nice and snug in its fabric prison. Harry noses at it gently and then presses his lips on it, smiling as he feels the blood of the erect flesh thud against them. “I can feel your heartbeat here,” he says contently but winces in the next moment when Zayn’s evil bony fingers come to tug at his ear.

“Harry, I swear to God if you don’t hurry up, this will be the last time we’re doing one of your kinks in bed.”

“Alright, but you have to turn around first.”

“Wha- what d’you mean turn around? Weren’t we just getting to the good part?” Zayn struggles up on his elbows for a better look at Harry. His brow is sweaty and glistening, clumps of hair haphazardly glued to it, and his cheeks are flushed ruddy. The sharp ridges of his propped up shoulders make a wonderful contrast against the ruffles of the corset. He looks already ruined even though all Harry’s got to so far is some heavy petting. 

“I want to touch the back, as well,” Harry says stubbornly. He decided on wanting this ever since he laced up the corset in the hallway and who knows when he’ll get another chance for something like this.

“But all the important bits are at the front,” Zayn says, pointedly wagging his eyebrows towards his crotch.

“I don’t care. This is my fantasy.”

“Ugh, Jesus, fuck, fine. You better make this worth it,“ Zayn growls and flops around with the minimal possible effort, almost kneeing Harry in the face. “C’mon, hurry up,” he says in a softer, almost pleading voice, and Harry immediately feels bad.

“I’ll be quick. I just- “ He trails a finger down the lacing in the middle and suddenly the sight of Zayn’s slim waist enclosed in the fabric casing is too much for him. He closes his eyes and bites down at the bare skin of hip visible, tasting the salty skin with relish. His fingers dig forcefully between Zayn's legs and squeeze into the tight, hot space.

"Oh god," Zayn wails, clutching a pillow with both hands. His thighs are visibly trembling and if Harry wasn't so far gone he'd be ashamed at how turned on he is at the sight of it. He puts his palms on them, grabs a hold at the meaty (well, relatively speaking) part right under the buttocks, and squeezes, thumbs pressing into the soft inner flesh. It makes his arse cheeks pop out and Harry swears he blacks out for a moment. He presses his face into the fabric and licks at where the scrotum bulges out.

"Harry," Zayn pants, open-mouthed desperation against the sheet, "I'm- I'm gonna be coming into these stupid knickers if you don't stop-" 

"Good, I think I want you to." Harry pushes his hand between the duvet and Zayn’s crotch, palm up, and squeezes relentlessly. 

Zayn shudders violently and then lies still, panting quietly into the pillows. “You dick.” 

Clumsy with want, Harry pushes himself up on his knees, wobbly thighs messing with his balance as he spreads them to grab his achingly full cock. He hobbles forward and falls back down again, supported only with one hand as the other is still palming his erection. He doesn’t know himself what he wants to do but Zayn’s bum is right there, snug and firm in its lace wrapping, and he lets his hips hang lower and lower, until he’s resting on his elbow and his cock is right there on the lace. It's scratchy in a deeply satisfying way and he’d make a pun about scratching itches if he thought Zayn was at all receptive to it at the moment. Instead, he presses his cock into the crevice in the middle and starts to rub it back and forth, his hand keeping the friction steady. It doesn't long for him to push himself over the edge and he comes, splashes of white landing all over Zayn's arse. Then he slumps down next to Harry, feeling faint and exhausted in the best possible way.

***

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Zayn mumbles lifelessly into the bed.

“Sorry,” Harry says, equally wrung out, and stretches out a hand to tug at the laces of the corset until they start to loosen. “You look so good, though. Actually, can I take a picture? Of you like this? I promise I won’t show it to anyone.”

Zayn tries to snort. “Not a chance in hell. You’re hopeless and clumsy and will probably end up arse tweeting it and I will be forced to move to Antarctica.”

“Fine. Wanna go for another round, then? No corset, just the stockings.”

“You better not be serious. I’m going to take a shower now and in the meanwhile you’re going to make me a cup of hot chocolate, capisci?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just clambers out of the bed and sails out of the room as majestically as he can on his wobbly, stocking-clad legs. In the bathroom he sort of wishes he’d waited for Harry to help him out of the clothes first, however, because wriggling out of the corset turns out to be even more laborious than getting into it now that he's soaked in sweat. Freed from its confines he feels like never putting it on again and leaves it lying there on the floor along with the stockings and the soaked knickers as he hops into the shower cubicle.

A few minutes into the shower he thinks he hears the bathroom door open and grimaces, thinking Harry's come for another round after all, but a few seconds later the door goes again and Zayn shrugs it off, focusing on immersing himself in steaming hot water while passionately resenting Harry and his stupid fetishes. Rationally he's aware that he’s mostly upset because of how badly he lost his cool at something so ridiculous but for now he’d just like to blame it all on Dirty Harry. Sometimes you need to lie to yourself a bit to get your swagger back.

When Zayn steps out a few minutes later the very first thing he does after wrapping a towel around himself is to snatch the pile of underwear still sitting on the toilet, with the intention of throwing them into the laundry bin, out of sight. He could just throw them into the bin but they're obviously expensive garments and Zayn doesn't really appreciate waste.

Wait. Where are the knickers? The dirty, sweaty knickers with both Zayn and Harry’s cum on them that Harry could not possible have snuck into the bathroom to steal to be used in some who knows weird and depraved way because if he did Zayn will kick him out the door and his life even though it’s technically Harry’s flat and despite the fact that it would be very hard to get rid of someone in the same band as you.

He storms out of the bathroom and quickly zooms in on the suspiciously shut door of Harry’s bedroom. Cracking his knuckles he advances upon it and, finding it locked, raps on it firmly. This ought to be fun.


End file.
